


you don't even know babe (what you done)

by AquaMarinara



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: A college fake exes AU, But Alice still sent Polly to the SOQM, F/M, No I will not apologize for it, Now they're all in college, Veronica drags the core four around NYC for some holiday festivities (and scheming), Yes I am cherrypicking canon at will, and B&V are roommates, where the Blossoms are from Vermont and Jason Blossom's murder never even entered Riverdale's bubble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaMarinara/pseuds/AquaMarinara
Summary: She ends the call with an ear-splitting grin on her face, leaning back on her bed to analyze the cracks in the ceiling—they don’t bother her as much as they did at first. The patterns are almost soothing, she thinks, when Veronica crashes onto her train of thought.“So, Jughead, huh?” she giggles, and Betty frowns. If she has to suffer through yet another joke of“so how’d he get stuck with that one?”she just might—“The friendly ex? Can’t imagine how that’s going to go down.”Shit.Or, when Betty Cooper had first told her college roommate about her (fake) ex, Jughead Jones, she had never expected him to come visit for the holidays.





	you don't even know babe (what you done)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stirringsofconsciousness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stirringsofconsciousness/gifts).



> Hello there, my dear! I hope you're having a lovely day and holiday season, and that the end of your 2018 is going as wonderfully as we all hope 2019 does.
> 
> I was so excited when I found out that I had you for the Riverdale Secret Santa, and I really hope that you enjoy this tiny twist on the classic fake dating trope. Kisses and happy reading!
> 
>  
> 
> (PS: Minor warning for swearing and underage drinking)

 

They sit in a circle on the plush white carpet, legs crossed, drinks in hand. Her roommate clasps her hands together to her left, wicked grin tilting her lips. The girl to Betty’s right—a fierce redhead who’s refused to remove her Louboutin heels the entire time she’s been in their room—pours a splash of vodka into her shot glass and knocks it back, a sigh leaving her red-stained lips as she sets the glass back down, eyes closed as if finally at peace.

 

“Let’s begin, shall we?” she purrs, eyes now opening to catch on Veronica’s, whose grin morphs into that of a cheshire cat.

 

Betty refuses to acknowledge the amount of tension between the two girls, feeling a bit like she’s intruding on something far too personal, and instead stares right ahead at the girl from Greendale, Wisconsin, who looks like the alternate-universe version of herself: slightly blonder, with piercing blue eyes and a slight tremble to her fingers that’s only noticeable to those self conscious about their own. 

 

It’s like looking in a fun-house mirror, and Betty can feel her fingers curling into her palms the more she thinks about it. She has to stop. She closes her eyes, thinks about water, the river, it’s rushing stream and the summers spent there with her two best friends. They’d never expected anything of her, had never treated her like the person she should have been, but instead had treated her like the person she was.

 

Her fingers uncurl, her eyes open again, and now Cheryl’s pouring out some more of her signature Apple Brandy cocktail into their cups, sweetened with her family farm’s maple syrup. Betty had found the girl’s obsession with the syrup pretty strange, but Veronica had eaten it up with a spoon, and who was Betty to object but a small-town girl from outside of New York City.

 

Sabrina’s face is bright, cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling with excitement at the game they’re about to play, yet her fingers continue to twitch lightly; Betty wonders if maybe she just needs a cigarette.

 

“Alright, Lodge,” Cheryl starts, settled back in her seat. “Truth or truth?”

 

“Damn, that’s a tough one, Cher,” comes the response, and all four girls laugh. They’d met two weeks ago on move-in day and immediately become friends, with the fact of living across the hall from each other making their hangouts all the more frequent. Tonight, the Friday after their first week of classes, had been declared a “booze and news” night by Veronica, her butler dropping off a few bottles of vodka and brandy outside their dorm per her request.

 

(Betty hadn’t believed her when she’d first dropped the I-have-a-butler bomb, but she’s since grown to trust anything that comes out of Veronica’s mouth, no matter how absurd.)

 

“Booze and news” had begun as a way for the four girls to get to know each other quickly, and Betty’s always grateful for their nights in; they’ve provided her with the time to get to know her new friends better—nights made even more important after she’d realized just how far away her and her two lifelong best friends had ended up from each other.

 

“Truth.”

 

“Any boyfriends back home?”

 

Veronica smirks, “No, no. Veronica Lodge never settled on anyone specific.” Her eyes shift and she fingers the stem of her glass. “She’s had every color, though. Every color but red, that is.”

 

Cheryl’s cheeks nearly turn the color of her hair, and Sabrina barks out a laugh. “Get a room, will you?” she teases. Then, her hand waves the question away, a simple “Harvey,” leaving her lips, and the three other girls nod. They’d all heard about Harvey, Sabrina’s boyfriend from back home, and no other explanation was necessary—the two had been together for years, and even the long distance between them hadn’t seemed to affect their relationship.

 

It was Cheryl’s turn, now, as the question would always travel around the circle after being asked. “It was Heather, first, but mother ruined that.” Her breath catches on the name, and Betty reaches her hand out to settle on her knee for comfort. “Then Toni, but she decided to let me go to New York City without her, and she stayed back home in Vermont.” She suddenly looks up, settles a smile over her red lips, and reaches to pour herself another shot.

 

Betty sips from her own Apple Brandy as the girls all turn to look at her, expectant, and suddenly she can’t breathe. The drink slips down the wrong pipe at the thought that  _ this is it, Betty. This is when they find out how much of a loser you really are, _ and she ends up nearly choking her lungs out.

 

“You okay?” Veronica asks, concern wrinkling her brow.

 

“Yeah, yeah, um,” Betty licks her lips.  _ How to tell her new friends that she was too hung up on one of her best friends for years to go after anyone else after that? _ Fairly simple, actually.

 

“There was one guy, sophomore year. We split up after a few weeks, but we stayed really good friends. After him, though, not much,” she shrugs, her throat drying up at the lie. 

 

“Ooh, Betty Cooper, a scandalous sophomore with a boyfriend?” Cheryl teases, lips curling. Betty can feel Veronica’s eyes piercing through the side of her face, an accusatory W _ hy haven’t you told me this before?  _ in order. “What was his name, pray tell?”

 

“Jughead,” she whispers, hand curling tighter around her glass. The name tastes bitter on her tongue, but it’s quickly washed away by syrup-sweetened brandy and the thought that Veronica will never get to interrogate either of the childhood best friends so many states away from her.

 

~~~

 

She forgets about her supposed ex-boyfriend until a few weeks before finals, when she’s sitting on her bed, reading over her Writing Social Justice paper. Her phone rings beside her, a picture of a beanie-wearing boy popping up on her screen, and a smile pieces itself quickly across her features.

 

“Hey, Jug,” she greets, the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder as she triple-checks for any spelling errors.

 

“Betts,” comes a relieved sigh, and her heart feels a bit lighter in her chest. “It’s so nice to hear a familiar voice,” he jokes, but Betty can feel the bitter tinge of truth lying underneath.

 

“I know what you mean,” she agrees. “I miss you.”

 

“I miss you too,” he replies nearly immediately, his voice rising a bit as he now seems to be bursting with excitement. “Arch, too. It’s been a long semester, and quite a bit since the three musketeers have all been together. So, umm, we were thinking…well, since Fred’s driving to Nashville to pick Arch up and then coming back for me, we were thinking maybe we could stop by the city?”

 

Jughead and Archie and Fred. All of them, here with her like old times. She shuts her laptop slowly, the light suddenly overwhelming.

 

“I mean, we both finish our finals way before you do, so maybe we can all hang out for the week you’re still there, help relieve some stress? We know how you gets, Betts, and I’d sure love to be there, purely for all the cookies you’ll be baking,” he chuckles, but it’s strained, and Betty knows how nervous he is to ask her. He’d always been so scared she’d say no, though she never did. She never turned him down, and she never would.

 

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jug,” she replies as quickly as she can without interrupting. “I just don’t know where you’d stay. Hotels are expensive as hell around here, and the room’s just not big enough for some sleeping bags—“

 

“Betty,” a sharp voice interrupts. “Tell your  _ friends _ that they’ve always got a spot at the Pembrooke.”

 

Betty looks up to find Veronica grinning from across the room, her eyes still inspecting the manicure she’d gotten a few hours ago. 

 

“Really, V?” she asks, nearly breathless. God, how she loved her roommate.

 

“Sure, I don’t think Daddy would mind. We’ve got a few extra apartments empty right now anyway, at least until we find some new renters.”

 

“Oh my god, thank you, V,” she rambles, but the girl just waves her away. “Jug, Jughead, did you hear? Veronica’s found you a place to stay, so don’t worry about that at all, alright? Just come up, I’m so excited to see you all.”

 

She ends the call with an ear-splitting grin on her face, leaning back on her bed to analyze the cracks in the ceiling—they don’t bother her as much as they did at first. The patterns are almost soothing, she thinks, when Veronica crashes onto her train of thought.

 

“So, Jughead, huh?” she giggles, and Betty frowns. If she has to suffer through yet another joke of  _ “so how’d he get stuck with that one?” _ she just might—“The friendly ex? Can’t imagine how that’s going to go down.”

 

Shit.

 

~~~

 

Jughead nearly falls out of Fred’s truck, his entire weight resting against the car door when Betty throws it open. She looks beautiful as ever, little flakes of snow nestling into her blonde curls and settling on the tip of her reddened nose. She’s bundled up like always, snow boots and gloves on despite the flurries not even sticking to the ground.

 

He, on the other hand, is in his Converse and sherpa jacket, the cold barely getting to him after years and years of braving it without adequate equipment. He wouldn’t say he’s cold at all, not until he and Betty have to pull away from their hug, and then he’s missing her warmth more than anything. 

 

“Juggie,” she greets excitedly, bouncing on the tip of her toes, and his breath catches at the nickname, heart bouncing right with her. “I’m so glad you could make it.” 

 

A throat clears from behind her, revealing the petite woman behind her, shorter than Betty even in heels that look as if they could kill a man. “Veronica Lodge,” she presents herself, hand extended for a shake.

 

“Jughead Jones, nice to meet you,” he replies, wincing at the firm grip of her handshake and pulling at his beanie with his other hand.

 

“Ah yes, the infamous Jughead Jones,” she smirks, and Betty turns slightly rosier. “I’ve got some questions for you, Mr. Jones,” she starts, and then Betty waves her hands around to stop her.

 

“Hey, Ron, how about we save that for another time, alright? Why don’t you show Archie and Fred to their apartment while Jug and I unload the car?” she pleads, and Jughead turns to the back of the truck, already knowing she’ll get her way and have him taking all of the luggage down soon enough. 

 

“Betty Cooper,” comes an astonished, almost proud, response. “You sly minx,” he thinks he hears as he climbs into the truck bed, but that can’t exactly be right.

 

Veronica’s heels clack away into the massive skyscraper behind them, Archie and Fred already inside and most definitely drooling over the lobby’s expensive decor.

 

“Jug,” Betty approaches from the side, helping him as he lifts Archie’s two guitars out of the back. She sets them down lightly on the sidewalk, and turns back to him. “I’m not entirely sure how to say this, but, umm, I—“ she stops, and he turns around to watch her bite her lip.

 

“Hey, stop that, Betts,” he urges, reaching over to tap lightly at her cheek, a known signal between them.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, and he wants to stop her again.  _ Always too many ‘sorry’s. _ “I’m just not sure how to say this,” she fidgets again, this time with the frayed ends of her scarf.

 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

 

“Would you mind, um, pretending to be my ex-boyfriend? Just for while we’re around Veronica? Cheryl and Sabrina too.”

 

Suddenly, Veronica’s head-to-toe inspection and chilly greeting make sense, and he sighs as his fingers rub heavily at his temples. “Betty, why on Earth would you tell them—“

 

“Because, Jug,” she whines, and he almost smirks at the pout on her face—the signature pout that never failed her when it came to him. “We were all talking about our experiences, you know, with that kind of stuff, and I felt a bit left out, so I...” she starts to explain, trailing off when words don’t seem to fully convey her embarrassment.

 

“So you decided to make up a fake ex-boyfriend and picked the worst name you could think to give him?”

 

She smiles slightly at that, hitting him over the shoulder for the self-deprecating joke. “No, I picked the only guy I knew I could haggle into doing this for me. Was I right?”

 

It should be sad, really, how fast he’d been ready to agree to the stupid plan, if only to wipe that pout off her face; he’s used to it by now, though. He’s used to being completely gone for Betty Cooper, so it’s not sad or pathetic, but more just the status quo. He doesn’t foresee it changing any time soon.

 

“You’re always right, Betts,” he hears himself answer over her cry of gratitude.

 

~~~

 

Veronica’s busy being wooed by Archie Andrews and his magical guitars while Fred retreats to his temporary bedroom, exhausted after their nine hour drive.

 

Betty and Jughead, on the other hand, are perched on the kitchen’s bar stools as Jughead devours nearly every single dish Veronica’s butler, Smithers, had brought in for the new guests.

 

“I still don’t get what the problem is, Betty,” he huffs through a mouthful of cheese and crackers.

 

“The  _ problem _ is that we don’t have a story, Jug,” she whispers, arms flailing agitatedly to the point where she almost tips her stool over. “We’ve got to get a story, a good one, and get it straight. Or else we’re done for.”

 

“Alright,” he agrees. “Have you got one?” His hat tips slightly, releasing a few more curls, and Betty tugs her own ponytail a bit tighter.

 

“Ah, no, but I was thinking we could come up with something? Like the first day we got together: When do you think that could have been?” She’s got a few dates in mind herself: maybe that day they stayed a few hours late to wrap up the newest edition of their school newspaper, or when Betty was the only one to come to the Twilight’s final showing, or, really, any other time it was just the two of them together. Maybe, just maybe, a braver version of herself would have made a move on him all those years ago, instead of wallowing in her self-pity.

 

“That day we visited Polly at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy,” he replies easily, reaching for the last three tramezzini sandwiches on the platter.

 

She snorts at that, shaking her head quickly. “Right, because that was such a shining moment in our sophomore year. I was upset, and scared, and wondering if I’d gone crazy. Why would you ever have wanted to go out with me then?”

 

“Why not?” he turns away from her, reaching down to fiddle with one of his loose suspenders. “I climbed up to your bedroom window, like a character straight out of any romance movie ever—“

 

“Or Scream?” she butts in, teasing.

 

“Fine, or Scream, though that’s definitely not the vibe I was going for. I think I was playing at more of a Romeo and Juliet angle there, you know?” he sighs, small smile tugging at his lips. “Nurse off duty?” he asks again, just like he had all those years ago, and she finally remembers. He  _ had _ called her Juliet, hadn’t he? She’d been so distracted that it’d barely registered, but he had.

 

“You told me that I wasn’t crazy, that we’re not our parents,” she suddenly remembers, feeling a warmth surge through her at the memory.

 

“Yeah, I did,” he breathes out, his eyelids lowering as if they’ve suddenly become too heavy. “That’s when we would’ve started dating,” he finally continues, the words stumbling out of his mouth slowly, as if they’re being ripped from his grasp. “I, um, I would’ve kissed you.”

 

It takes her a few seconds to process his words, time passing only with the slight strum of Archie’s guitar from the other room. Would he have kissed her? Would Jughead Jones have really had enough interest in her for that?

 

She throws the thought away. He hadn’t kissed her. He hadn’t been interested in her.

 

“Obviously we would’ve broken up a few weeks later, at the Birthday Party from Hell,” he emphasizes, raising his eyebrows as he does. They both remember that dramatic fight of theirs—it’s one of the few they’ve ever had. “And if anyone ever asks why, just claim irreconcilable differences. That clears everything up,” he explains, but Betty finds herself wrinkling her brow in confusion.  _ Irreconcilable differences? _

 

“Jug,” she starts, only to be interrupted by the sound of Veronica’s heels coming their way across the hardwood. He nods in response, seeming to understand, and shifts his stool a few inches away from hers right as Veronica steps into the kitchen.

 

Betty can already feel her heart sinking.

 

~~~

 

Bryant Park’s only a few subway stops away, and Veronica drags the four of them there after lunch on Sunday, claiming that “it’s not a Christmas in New York City without a trip to the Village.”

 

The two girls are meant to be studying, sure, but Betty’s been preparing for her Writing Social Justice exam for over a week and a half, and Veronica’s almost done with the paper due for her Negotiating Strategies class, so they can afford to give up an afternoon for some festivities.

 

The Urbanspace Lodge crowds around noon as all of the shoppers stop for lunch, leaving the ice rink fairly empty. Veronica manages to drag herself away from the rows of little jewelry boutiques to wait in line for the skate rentals, and Betty and the boys follow suit.

 

The line moves steadily until they’re inside the building, Veronica shuffling around all the other skaters to grab the four of them seats at the end of a bench where they switch out their shoes for the skates in their hands.

 

The Zamboni finishes polishing off the second half of the rink right as they step up to the gates, and the staff let everyone back out onto the ice, the crowd thinning into two lines as people step out onto the rink.

 

Veronica stands at the front, Archie’s hand in hers as the two of them discuss which type of crepe to grab at the Village shop after their skating excursion. ( _ Strawberry and Nutella, Archiekins. It’s a classic. _ )

 

Betty stares down at the skates on her feet, her weight pressing down on the blade at the center of her feet. She’s sure she’ll be sore by the end of the day—that is, if she can get the hang of ice skating by then.

 

She’d never learned.

 

Polly had hosted a few parties at Riverdale’s own rink when they were younger, but Betty had watched too many of Polly’s classmates fall face down onto the ice (even resulting in a bloody nose one time) to try it out for herself. She wasn’t scared of getting hurt, necessarily, but she was scared of trying, and failing.

 

She chews her lip as she mulls over just how she’ll manage to get through today without making a fool of herself out there, but releases it when she feels a finger tap at her cheek. Jughead’s.

 

“Hey, Betts, you okay?” he asks, shuffling closer to her despite the limited space and the awkwardness of walking on the padded floor in skates.

 

“Yeah,” she assures him, smiling slightly. “Just nervous, I guess. I’ve never skated before,” she whispers, as if it’s an unspeakable crime.

 

His face lights up with a grin, and then he leans over to whisper in her ear, just as conspiratorially, “Me neither. We’ll just have to stick together then, alright?”

 

She nods, reaches for his hand as they approach the gate to the rink, and holds onto the wall with her other hand before setting one skate on the ice. It slips, sending her off balance, but Jughead steadies her with his hand, and she shoots him a grateful smile.

 

They both somehow manage to make it out without falling on their asses, and Betty considers that a success. She’s lost sight of Archie and Veronica, but she’s not too worried—they’re no doubt making their laps around the rink with no problems.

 

She’s got one hand on the wall, using it to balance herself and push forward, and the other in Jughead’s grasp. Both of them had removed their gloves for greater grip, but it’s seemed to backfire—her hands are clammy purely from the fact that they’re even holding hands, and his from the stress of constantly trying to regain his balance. At least, she’s guessing that’s why he seems so nervous. The results are disastrous, with Jughead falling forwards with every other glide of their skates, and they only end up moving a few feet after a half hour of skating.

 

“Juggie,” she urges, moving her hand to pull at the sleeve of his denim jacket. How he’s not cold, she isn’t sure—she herself is freezing even with the parka she’s got layered over a sweater and her skinny jeans. “We’ve got to figure something else out. We aren’t getting anywhere.”

 

“I think it’s the wall, Betts,” he tells her, eyes widening in panic as she puts too much weight into the tip of her skate and nearly trips over the blunt edge, threatening to bring them both down. “Let go.”

 

“What are you talking about?” she asks, but lets go anyway. The little wall had been the only thing keeping the two of them up, but she trusts him enough. Hopefully he’s got a better idea than just “let go and figure it out”.

 

He sets his skates to the left, gliding a few inches closer to her, and wraps his arm around the crook of her arm, locking them together at the elbows. “Alright, Betts,” he tells her, close enough for his voice to tickle her right ear. “This is it. One of us goes down, we both go down, but I think we should be able to stay up for a few more feet this way.” He points to the fairly empty straight-away of ice in front of them, only occupied by a few speeding teenage boys and a mother gliding along next to a toddler with a penguin-shaped skating aid.

 

“Hey, Jug, why didn’t we get one of those,” Betty asks, pointing to the penguin, when they manage to get farther ahead in the loop without any scares. Her hands are no longer clammy, both because they aren’t in his and because she feels much safer skating in his arms. They seem to balance each other out, with her pulling to the left when he tips to the right, and them coming together in the middle with a laugh as their shoulders collide.

 

“Too easy,” he responds, grinning, and pulls her even closer when a skater to their left almost runs right into her. 

 

“Sorry about that!” he yells back once he’s passed them, and Jughead frowns, grumbling loudly about  _ reckless kids these days _ .

 

“You’re sounding more and more like the grinch, Juggie,” she laughs, looking up to find his light blue eyes sparkling down at her. They almost seem to wander to her lips, but then he turns as Veronica and Archie pass his side, also holding hands and skating backwards.

 

“Look, Betty!” Veronica, announces, her other hand raised in cheery excitement. “I’m skating. All thanks to Archiekins, here.” She smirks, raising a challenging brow as she scans over the couple in front of her.

 

“You sure are, Ron,” Betty laughs tightly, pulling away from Jughead as subtly as she can. Her discreteness doesn’t seem to work, though, as he notices her movement and looks down at the space growing between them, his eyes now dim, and nods at her in understanding. 

 

They had a plan.

 

He loses his balance on their next glide over the ice, bringing her down with him, and she laughs as she falls on top of him, grabbing the beanie that’s landed a few inches away from them and settling it over her own head.

 

Veronica and Archie have already gotten to the other side of the rink, and it’s so busy that they’ll hardly notice the two incompetent skaters on the ground. 

 

“It’s mine now, Juggie,” she teases, and the sparkle comes back to those baby blue eyes from her dreams.

 

The plan can wait, she decides. At least until Veronica comes back around.

 

~~~

 

Her Writing Social Justice and Women and the Media finals are scheduled a week apart, which Veronica takes full advantage of. The night after her Writing Social Justice exam, Veronica drags her out to the bar in the skimpiest outfit she could find in Betty’s closet (parka overtop, of course), and invites the boys out with them.

 

Smithers drives them right up to a metal gate down a darkened alley, the sign for the Lower East Side Toy Company lit up by a single flickering light on the abandoned brick building beside it.

 

“Betty, are you sure we aren’t about to get initiated into the mafia?” Jughead’s snarky comment comes from behind the two girls as they push past the gate and head down the stairs to cross through the back of the next alley.

 

“Easy, Jones, my dad owns the joint,” Veronica answers shortly, rolling her eyes at his dramatics.

 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Lodge.”

 

Another set of stairs leads them to a heavy wooden door, opening at Veronica’s two timed knocks to reveal a 20s-inspired bar with velvet sofas littering the floor, matching the red wallpaper in their bloody color. Gold-framed Renaissance paintings, full bookcases, and a fireplace line the walls, the dim overhead lights and candles barely lighting the room.

 

“Holy shit, Veronica,” Archie gasps, reaching for a tea cup off a waiter’s tray. The cups all hang from the rack above the bar, seemingly the only kind of cups available for any offered cocktail.

 

“A mafia-owned speakeasy. Great,” Jughead snarks, but Betty can hear the awe in his voice.

 

“Welcome to The Back Room,” Veronica announces over the sound of the live jazz being played on stage. “I thought we could all use a drink, and Andre,” she points to  the man working away at a few drinks behind the bar, “can’t exactly card us here.”

 

There’s an open set of velvet lounge chairs—a couch and two armchairs surrounding the marble-topped coffee table—that Veronica claims immediately, settling her purse down as she saunters over to the bar to order them all a few margaritas.

 

Jughead hasn’t yet objected to the drinks as he usually would—both on the principle of having to pay for himself and on account of his sobriety—but he doesn’t seem overly preoccupied with anything other than getting as far away from Betty as possible.

 

She sets herself on the couch against the wall, purse resting in her lap while she waits for Archie and Jughead to settle in next to her, but Jughead immediately beelines for the armchair farthest from her, his eyes never catching hers.

 

She gets it, she does. They’d set up a plan, and he’s sticking to it. He can’t get too friendly again or Veronica would become suspicious immediately, but that doesn’t seem to stop Betty’s heart from dragging down into the pit of her stomach.

 

He suddenly reaches for the book perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of them, an old copy of  _ The Godfather _ , possibly even a first edition.

 

The novel keeps him occupied, and trying not to stare him down does the same for Betty, so both of them are quite startled at the sound of Veronica slamming a tray of tea cups onto the coffee table. Betty visibly jerks, head shooting up to glare at the noise and fingers moving to grip at the velvet of the couch, but if Veronica notices, she doesn’t say a word.

 

Archie, on the other hand, catches on faster than normal and wags a finger between his two best friends. “What’s up with you two?” he questions, head tilted towards them, eyebrows knitted together, and forehead glistening with sweat—as if trying to decipher the situation has placed far too much stress upon him.

 

“Just an ex-lover’s quarrel, I’m sure,” Veronica supplies, reaching for her margarita and sipping at it quickly as she settles into the open seat next to Betty on the couch.

 

“What?”

 

Oh God, Archie. They’d planned for him, obviously—it wouldn’t be too difficult to convince Riverdale’s resident golden retriever that his two best friends had secretly dated under his nose for a few weeks a few years ago—but Betty doesn’t exactly want to have to deal with him tonight. Not after that final exam, and especially not with her heart in her gut.

 

Luckily, Jughead seems to sense the tension coursing through her and fills in quickly. “Betty and I—we might’ve dated for a bit back in tenth grade. Nothing major, not enough to tell you about it, anyway—it ended just as quickly as it started. Right, Betts?”

 

She nods, lips tight.

 

“Right. Sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, buddy,” he finishes, and both he and Betty nod quickly at each other, only to turn their gazes to the floor once again.

 

“Oh, Archiekins, you didn’t know?” Veronica gasps beside Betty, and the blonde has to close her eyes before someone catches her rolling them. “I really didn’t mean to stir the pot tonight.”

 

“No, no worries, you didn’t,” Archie urges. “It’s no big deal, you guys. Really. I’m just going to get another drink.” He points to his cup, now devoid of any and all margarita. “You coming with, Ronnie?” he asks, then adds, “Drinks are on me,” before jumping up and patting his pockets down for his wallet.

 

Veronica clicks her tongue, already a step ahead of him, and walks away with a “We own the place, Archie. Put your chivalry back in your pocket and let me handle it.”

 

“Thanks, Juggie,” Betty hears herself whisper once they’re out of earshot.

 

“Don’t mention it,” he responds, still not exacting looking at her but rather running his finger up and down the spine of the book in his hands.

 

They don’t speak again until Veronica and Archie get back, fortunately with a few extra drinks and no further questions. Betty immediately downs the Caipirinha Veronica hands her, hoping that the burn of the rum will manage to replace the sting in her heart.

 

It doesn’t.

 

~~~

 

The common room on Betty and Veronica’s floor’s been turned into a study room for finals, but Veronica had somehow gotten the RA to green-light a holiday party there the night after their disastrous adventure to The Back Room, and in just a few hours, she’s managed to have a real fern brought in and decorated, streamers hung from wall to wall, and catering services arranged by New York City’s best.

 

Betty, meanwhile, hasn’t left their room since waking up this morning, instead reviewing the presentation she’s meant to be giving for her Women and the Media Seminar on her research on the effects of music videos on the behaviors of teenage girls.

 

“Betty,” Veronica barges into their room around six, right as Betty’s finishing up her Works Cited slide. “You have to come to the party tonight,” she urges, rushing over to Betty and pulling her to stand out of her desk chair. “Get up, get out, and stretch those wonderfully long legs, girl. You’ve been cooped up in here since seven this morning, and it’s high time you get your daily dose of social interaction.”

 

She’s about to protest, the word ‘no’ right on the tip of her tongue, when Veronica rushes over to her dresser to pull a hideous Christmas sweater out of her drawers, holding it up in triumph.

 

“I even got you this for the sweater contest.” She turns to place it over Betty’s torso, imagining what the 3-D pom-pom snowman on the front would look like on the blonde. “You’d win for sure. What’d you say?” She’s grinning from ear to ear, enthusiasm abundant despite her lack of sleep over the past twenty-four hours, and Betty’s got to give it to her.

 

“Alright, alright,” she relents, reaching for the sweater in Veronica’s hands. “I’ll be there for the sweater contest, the free food, and that’s about it, okay? I’ve seriously got to study this week, V. Especially after wasting all those hours last night at the bar.”

 

Veronica frowns, reaching for her own black-and-purple holiday sweater to slip on over her dress. “Socializing isn’t wasting time, Betty. You’ve got to have a life outside of school, you know?” Now ready, she crosses the room to reach for the doorknob, stopping right before turning it. “I’ll meet you down there in a bit. Contest’s in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

 

“I won’t,” Betty mumbles back, waiting for their door to shut once more before slipping out of her sweatpants and into some skinny jeans and the pom-pom jumper.

 

She turns to catch herself in the mirror, runs a finger or two through her curls before deciding on keeping her hair down for the night. She doesn’t want to go, to leave the comfort of her room where she can curl up in bed any time last night’s events come back in flashes, but she has to.

 

_ You’re an adult now, Betty. You do adult things. You go to holiday parties—no matter how scared you are of talking to anyone Veronica’s invited. _

 

She inhales, exhales, and steps outside of the room for the first time that day. The hall smells of evergreen, she realizes, and it’s almost comforting. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

 

Then Archie runs up to her from behind, arms laden with six-packs of some watered-down beer brand he’d no doubt gotten Fred to buy for them—always intent on not showing up to a party empty-handed. He greets her loudly, in his own ugly Christmas sweater, and that’s when Betty realizes who else will be there tonight.

 

It doesn’t take long for her to find him; she and Archie slip inside the common room while the Pussycats sing “All I Want for Christmas Is You”, and there he is. Jughead Jones, in his Where’s Waldo sweater. She chuckles at the classic Jughead anti-dresscode attire—red and white and ugly, but not festive in any way—and catches his attention with her laugh.

 

He waves her over, and Betty approaches slowly, the night before seeming a distant memory as he smiles at her once again. Yeah, maybe this won’t be so bad.

 

~~~

 

_ She looks beautiful  _ comes his first thought, and  _ I’m an ass _ comes his second.

 

He’d tried to stick to their plan last night, perhaps a little too well. Veronica Lodge would have seen right through him, he’s sure of it, had he even stared at Betty a second too long—heart eyes, JB called them—so he’d made an executive decision to not look her way at all, but that had obviously backfired.

 

She seems happy tonight (especially after she’d won the ugly sweater contest), with her hair down and careless as she laughs at Archie’s drunken antics and Sabrina’s imitations of her aunts. Good. That’s good, he reasons, but he’s still got to apologize for his actions the night before.

 

He tries to track her down as she flutters from party guest to party guest, greeting each with that signature Cooper smile, on her way to the snacks in the back of the room. It’s crowded, and smells of cheap beer, but he finally manages to push through the mob and reach her when she stops for a cup of eggnog.

 

“Hey, Betts,” he greets as he approaches slowly, and she turns around quickly, drink sloshing around in her red cup. “So, uh, I’ve been meaning to—“

 

“Have you ever had eggnog before, Juggie?” she suddenly interrupts, holding the cup out to him. He slowly shakes his head no. “Me neither. First time for everything, I guess,” she giggles, “here goes nothing.” She takes a sip at her drink, and Jughead takes the opportunity.

 

“I really just wanted to apologize for—“

 

“God, it’s disgusting,” she splutters, scrunching her nose and shaking her head at the taste. “Word of warning,” she tells him, finger pointed, “don’t try the eggnog.”

 

“Right, but Betty—“

 

This time it’s Veronica who interrupts him, her heels sounding the alarms of her arrival before her “Jones!” can. Jughead closes his eyes, counts down from ten, and sighs as she settles a hand over his shoulder. “I see you’ve found our contest winner of the night. Just stunning, isn’t she?” she grins, head pointing to Betty, who’s still glaring into her cup of eggnog as if it’ll jump out and attack her at any second.

 

“Gorgeous, Veronica,” he sighs, resigned to the changing tide of this conversation.

 

“Just as I thought,” she nods slowly, then turns to Betty. “You wouldn’t happen to agree that he looks fairly handsome tonight, would you, B? Despite his horrifying sweater and blatant disrespect for the dress code?”

 

Jughead rolls his eyes at that, but Betty cracks a smile and sets her eggnog down on the snacks table.

 

“Sure,” she answers easily, though Jughead catches the slight tense of her shoulders.

 

“So you two lovely people wouldn’t mind if I pointed out the fact that you’re stood right below the only sprig of mistletoe I had hung up? I’m sure kissing another attractive human being wouldn’t ruin too many of our nights, now would it?”

 

Betty’s breath catches, her eyes widening, and Jughead tilts his own head up to spot the green and white mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.  _ Fuck _ . He looks back down to find that Betty’s lost all color in her cheeks, fingernails pulling tightly at the sleeves of her sweater so that they stretch out and cover her palms.

 

Slowly, he reaches out to tap her cheek—their usual signal—but she doesn’t seem any less panicked at the touch. “Betty,” he tries this time. “We don’t have to. Nobody said we had to.”

 

Nobody but the laws of Christmas and tradition. His pulse speeds up, heart hammering in his chest as it slowly splinters apart. She’d rather break the laws of the holidays than kiss him—even just a quick peck on the cheek. No, Jughead Jones was undesirable to Betty Cooper, and he’s not quite sure why he ever thought otherwise. He only has himself to blame for getting his hopes up, for thinking that this Christmas would be the one to change things between them—especially now that they’d escaped from the bubble of Riverdale and Archie Andrews.

 

_ No, Jughead _ , he reminds himself.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

 

Leaving Riverdale would only expose her to the hundreds—thousands—of better guys out there than him, and of course…He’d never been able to compete with Archie before, so what made him think he was more special than any of the other guys she would inevitably meet?

 

Stupid.

 

“I’m—” she splutters, pulling him out of his thoughts for a second, and then she’s dodging groups of party-goers to run out and to her bedroom, Veronica calling after her.

 

Jughead’s had more than enough for one night. There was only one reason he’d come to the party in the first place anyway, and she’d just rejected him before everyone in attendance.

 

_ Stupid.  _

 

~~~

 

“Betty?” Veronica asks from the doorway, quietly, as if she’s trying to subdue a wild animal. “Are you alright?”

 

Betty’s face down on her bed, breathing heavily into her pillow as her fingers dig deeper into the covers. She fists the fabric, almost tearing at it.

 

Her head spins, flashbacks of his face, that faraway look in his eyes when she’d started stuttering. She knows she hurt him by being so distant tonight, but hadn’t he done the same thing to her? Wasn’t she just sticking to the plan?

 

It wasn’t supposed to have gone this way, this whole thing. Why hadn’t she just told Veronica the truth to begin with? Why hadn’t she told Jughead her feelings all those years ago?

 

She was scared, always has been. Scared of failure, scared of disappointing others and herself, scared of not living up to expectations for the blonde girl from the perfect household down the street. She’s still scared, she knows, but it’s time she faces the judgement she’d always shied so far away from.

 

“V,” she chokes out, still speaking into her tear-soaked pillow. “I messed up.”

 

“I’ll say.” Veronica’s hand pats lightly at her shoulder, moving to ease the tension in her neck. Betty can feel her weight shifting the mattress as she settles next to her on the bed, and then she’s lightly combing through Betty’s hair, the motion almost instantly calming her down.

 

She can breathe again, can turn her face out of the pillow, and her hands release the comforter.

 

“It was all a sham, V,” she breathes out, eyes squeezing shut as she braces for impact.

 

Instead, Veronica just snorts out a laugh. “I knew the moment I saw you two. Exes? Please. More like the most oblivious couple of best friends I’d ever seen.”

 

“You knew?” Betty chokes, her heart now beating faster again. She opens her eyes despite the heaviness of her lids, her vision swimming as she focuses in on Veronica’s face. She doesn’t seem upset about being lied to, just more amused, and Betty’s never been more grateful for her friend.

 

“Of course I knew. Nothing gets past Veronica Lodge, Betty. Not even the fact that you and that boy are completely gone for each other.”

 

Betty scoffs at that, eyes shutting again as the memories come back. His face, God his face when Veronica had brought up the mistletoe. She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget it.

 

“I’m serious, Betty. I mean, he’s full-on heart eyes in love with you.”

 

He hadn’t seemed like it, she wants to respond, but her throat hurts and her lips appear glued shut, so she wraps her arms tightly around her torso and lets Veronica’s words wash over her.

 

“Go for it, Betty,” she whispers, fingers pushing the blonde strands of hair out of Betty’s face and behind her ears. “You haven’t got much to lose—he’d be an idiot to say no.”

 

Could she really do it? Could she really face the possibility of failure, of rejection, head on? She’s not sure, but it’s high time she does.

 

“Ronnie, would you grab me my phone?” she croaks, waiting for the device to land in her outstretched hand before shooting a text off to Jughead.

 

**Washington Square Park @ 11?**

 

His text comes back almost immediately.

 

**See you at the fountain.**

 

~~~

 

It’s snowing when she steps out onto the sidewalk, little flurries catching on her hair and dotting her jacket as she makes her way to the Washington Square Arch.

 

The fountain would be shut off for the winter, but its lights would be on, and those—along with the late hour of the night and, therefore, lack of tourists—would hopefully help her spot him fairly quickly.

 

He’s there, perched on the edge of a surrounding park bench, hat in his hands and eyes scanning the square for her presence. She approaches from the side, stomach steeling with every step of her boots, and she’s determined by the time she gets to him.

 

“Jug,” she greets, quietly so as not to startle him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

 

“Uh, no problem,” he tells her, motioning for her to sit down on the other end of the bench. He seems to swallow down a gulp of air, and then continues. “I’m really sorry about how everything went down; I didn’t mean to upset you, Betty,” he apologizes, sincere in the way his face crumples at the thought of her being so upset. 

 

She drops a hand to his shoulder, shaking her head quickly. “No, no, Jug. It was my fault for running out of there like that. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she almost laughs, but it gets caught in her chest.

 

She breathes once, twice, looks into his eyes as he waits. For what, she’s not sure, but she, for one, is done waiting.  _ It’s now or never, Betty. _

 

“Also,” she starts, swallowing down the bile in her throat as she steels her nerves.

 

“What?” he asks, encouraging.

 

A beat passes, and she chews at her lip.

 

“What, Betty?”

 

Her lips finally land on his, the snow continuing to fall lightly around them, and Betty smiles into their kiss.

 

She shouldn’t have been so scared.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any questions, comments, concerns, or reviews below. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the piece.
> 
> Much love and happy holidays, everyone!


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